Where or why my parents collected this piece of obsidian, I have no
idea. It has sat in their backyard for as long as I can recall. As the
first stone to melt its way through the snow, it is a sure harbinger
of a coming thaw. In its
day, it would have been a valuable trade item, to be fashioned by an
artisan into razor-sharp points. In fact, I understand that an
obsidian blade has a keener edge than the finest stainless-steel scalpel.